


Waiting For Catastrophes

by elusetta



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 09:53:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17078087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elusetta/pseuds/elusetta
Summary: Hudson has nightmares. Grace is there to help.





	Waiting For Catastrophes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [themysteriouslou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themysteriouslou/gifts).



> Written for a request/prompt fill on Tumblr. You know I'm all about those Far Cry lesbians :) Quick note: I write Hudson as 32, not 28, because reasons (those reasons being that I will swear until the day I die that that's her canon age.)

Good nights didn’t come too often now. Good nights were the ones where Hudson could sleep, and didn’t dream about much- or anything at all- until she woke up with the morning light shining in through a dusty window, alone but safe. Before the helicopter had crashed all those months ago, good nights had been few and far between. More often than not, Hudson would rather have worked the whole night through than taken the time to try and sleep well. But now, good nights were a rarity she missed like quality coffee and friendly street dogs, and they were becoming more of a _never_ thing the longer she stayed in the county.

Some nights she wanted to get in a helicopter and just fly the fuck out of the state. And by ‘some nights’, she meant the good nights.

The bad nights were a different story.

God knew she’d been through hell and back. Losing her first partner to bullets, losing her second to being kidnapped by a smarmy psychopath who got off on torturing her on camera- those had an impact on a person. No matter how strong she tried to be, that wasn’t something you could up and walk away from. On bad nights, she’d relive the moments over and over again, suffocating in the place of Danny, watching Rook get pulled kicking and screaming from the wreck of the helicopter, the taste of blood and a milkshake lying heavy in her mouth.

Bad nights were getting easier and easier as they repeated, repeated, repeated in the pattern of her sleep. She’d wake up at three-thirty in the morning in a freezing sweat that made her both want to throw up and pull the blankets tighter over herself, she’d breathe until the pounding in her chest calmed to a normal rate, and then she’d lie awake until four, when she’d fall asleep again. Bad nights were becoming the default.

But the good nights… The good nights still happened. And recently, there had been one particular figure that they’d had in common. Something a little bit newer, and most definitely unexpected, carrying some heroic crest of goodness with it.

Hudson woke up with a start, and the clock read three-thirty. The taste of iron lingered on her tongue.

But the tunnel vision that the bad nights came along with, crushing and cold, wasn’t there. Hudson felt for the presence on the other side of the bed and found it steady. Stable. Like everything the rest of the world couldn’t be.

As if sensing the disturbance in the air, on the other side of the bed, Grace sat up languidly, a facet of sleep enveloping her, and looked over at Hudson. Immediately, dark concern sprang into her eyes. She didn’t need to ask. She never did.

Twin trails of coldness drew two stripes down Hudson’s cheeks, and Grace was quick to wipe them away. Still, she didn’t offer any verbal comfort. She knew by now, after weeks, that just her being there was enough to drive away the difficulties.

Most nights, that is.

Grace sat against the wall, the position inviting Hudson to join her, which she did with a single hesitating movement.

“You wanna talk about it?” Grace offered gently.

Hudson sighed, trying to blink away the tightness in her throat and the wetness in her eyes. It took too long to get herself slightly back to normal, so she chose silence over embarrassment.

(Despite the fact that Grace had seen her at her most vulnerable, at her most open, at her most sentimental.)

“Joey,” Grace said softly, intertwining their fingers and bringing Hudson’s hand to her lips. She didn’t say anything else, but the tender, unfamiliar word of Hudson’s first name, spoken like it was the name of the world, brought a flutter of comforting warmth to her chest.

“...I’m okay,” she finally responded, after too long lingering in the shadow of Grace’s touch. “Bad dreams. That’s it.”

Illuminating rays of silver moonlight cast in through the same dusty window that greeted the morning. Grace’s eyes had a certain unattainable quality to them in the strange revelation of three-thirty AM, and Hudson longed to meet them, her heavy thoughts chaining her gaze to the sky. “You have bad dreams every night,” Grace observed. For a simple fact, it was cutting.

It was also true. “Yeah.” Something about the air of the night made the simple, one-word response feel inadequate. Reluctantly, Hudson continued. “I just… I’m supposed to be the one taking care of people. Just like you do. But you, you’re… actually doing something. Taking the fight to the cult. I just sit around Fall’s End, waiting for something to happen, and nothing… nothing ever does.” She looked up, blinking faster to discourage the buildup of tears. “I’m not supposed to be scared of getting hurt. Fucking John…”

Hudson didn’t have to make herself break the chains that stopped her from looking at Grace’s eyes in the light; Grace herself moved, bringing them closer to her, and oh, they were beautiful. “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Grace said, low and firm. “You’re safe with me. You know that, right?”

Hudson smiled. It might have looked half-assed, after a night of terrors, but she knew Grace knew she meant it. “I know, Grace.”

Safe. She was safe with her. That shouldn’t have been an easy fix, and yet it was. The assurance, not only of the words but of the weeks that had been spent defining and proving them, was completely infallible. There were no arguments that could be made against it.

When was the last time Hudson had been safe?

  
Maybe with Rook, before the cult had nearly killed them both. Maybe with Danny, before the truck and the bullets and the milkshakes. Maybe in the Academy. Maybe with her parents.

Or maybe, this was the first time she’d ever been this safe. Because, damn, if it didn’t feel like it.

Grace had known loss. She’d lost her best friend in the Army. She’d lost her father and nearly her home. Grace knew what it was like to be cold and empty and alone and still, she persevered; she protected; she waged war against the cult. She might not let on about much of it at all, at least not at first, but the history of her pain was always there, dusted under her skin and around her tired eyes.

Hudson paused, and around her, the night changed from distinctly a bad one into something a little bit less defined. Affection expanded in her chest even as fatigue tugged at its edges.

She didn’t really think about the next thing she said. But honestly, it was more of a feeling matter anyway. “I love you.”

There was very little surprise in Grace’s eyes upon hearing the statement, and rather than responding with a word, she pulled Hudson closer.

The light of the moon through the window saw two silhouettes meet each other as Grace kissed her, soft and strong and all the things she needed, and it tamed the darkness.

She fell back asleep at three forty-five. This time, her dreams were of a hero and a hundred victories.


End file.
